


Don't Fall

by Lady_R



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, And Kitrot is still there even without the Axe thing, And he's still an edgelord, As in Papyrus' delusion, Because it'll be used frequently, Blindfolds, Blood, Cages, Debt, Gags, Kidnapping, Loads of Angst, M/M, Mobsters, Nice Cream Guy is still named Kit, Papyton is one-sided, Physical Abuse, Please don't make jokes about the usage of the word "duty", Possible Disney References, Regret, Remorse, a lot of angst indeed, action will be sparse, fall out boy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_R/pseuds/Lady_R
Summary: Desperation can push the most unlikely of people to go to unimagined lengths just to get away from their position. This is what Mettaton learns when he finds out that his worst employee has contracted a debt with a local mob boss and has been taken hostage for not being able to pay it in time.Undyne tells him to stay out of the matter, but too many questions seem to knock at Mettaton's door. What was the boy in need of so much money for? And why didn't he ask for help from him, who has all the means to provide for such a need? Maybe there was a reason, and as the hours tick and the life of his employee is at higher and higher risk, he realizes he's not blameless and that he can't stay out of it.It's his duty, and he won't fail it anymore.





	1. First

_“I think there's something that you might perhaps forgot to say_

_Locked in the closet but it never goes away_

_No matter how hard you try, you're never washing out the stain”_

_(_ ** _Naughty_** _-_ Gwen Stefani _)_

 

 

There was a saying, in New Home: when a winged monster just wants to swim, that monster will drown.

It was probable that some elderly monster, the ones that still remembered what it was like to live on the Surface, knew what it originally meant. Its meaning was now left into obscurity, and everyone had their own interpretation of what it could mean. 

Some said that people were to accept their nature and be content with who they were. Others - including Mettaton, the Underground’s primary star - called it a needless and worthless attack on ambition, meant to destroy any shred of unique thinking and boldness left under that wretched barrier that not even the courage and resilience of the recently deceased king Asgore Dreemurr would have brought back. 

To 19-year-old Danny Allen, universally known as Burgerpants, it meant “you’re born worthless and you’ll always be”. 

But it wouldn’t have taken long for his boss to find out. 

 

If Mettaton’s feet were able to be sore, he was ready to bet they would have been very pained. As he pushed the doors of the MTT Resort open and ripped his black cape from his shoulder, he felt something slip under his right foot.

Before he knew it, he was facedown on the pavement.

-Curses.- He looked back at his own boot, where a halfway cracked heel miserably dangled from the rest of the shoe. A sequence of tingling steps announced him that Angles, the usher, was walking towards him. 

-Are you ok, boss?- his shrill voice asked.

-Mhm.- Mettaton didn’t feel like answering. His head hurt, his hair was a mess, and his whole new body felt stiff and not his. He let his worker take his black cape away from him and fold it into a corner. -I broke another heel.- “It’s the third, this month.” -I guess they’re just not meant for running around.-

-Why do you keep wearing them if they break?- his worker asked. Mettaton shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. Some people just couldn’t understand. 

-My audience is used to seeing me in high heels. They’re like my trademark. If I came in without them, they’d see that I’m upset. And tired.- 

-Why can’t they? Why do you hide things from your fans?-

Now, Mettaton was a hair away from slamming the floor with a fist. -Because I am a star: I have to look flawlessly in shape, everytime, every day. No mistakes allowed, or the whole world crumbles.-

_I’m a column_ , he bitterly thought to himself. But he felt like it was, in fact, the truth. Now that the kind was dead, the Underground was leaning on his back, and he had to support them all, no matter how heavy they were. He had to smile, sing, and make jokes - in wide variety, he couldn’t just stick to puns all the time. Who was he, Sans? - and never let a single crack show his true colors. 

It was, if he could say that, his duty. 

-I can’t not do it, see? It’d be like Undyne missing out on patrol, or ignoring a call for help from a civilian. I’d leave people in danger.-

-You’re a star, boss, not a superhero. Is it really as hard as you make it?-

He remained silent: a star who curses at a worker was not worthy of being called one. He took off his boots and made himself content with walking barefoot on the spotless tiles of his hotel. Time for the evening checkup on his workers. 

 

An aspect of himself that Mettaton had never expected was a smoothness in speeches, that went beyond the expected dramatics he’d usually give on his standard stage. Undyne had raised her eyebrow and kept an expression of grudge for days when he had announced that he had planned to give a sermon during the funeral ceremony for King Asgore. Even Alphys, surprisingly enough, seemed against the plan.

-I know you want to stand out.- she had said, as Mettaton was hiding his clenched fists in the pockets of his hoodie, -But t-this is going to be a serious occasion, and people will need to recover. Please, don't h-hijack it.- 

-Who says I’m hijacking it?- 

Alphys had remained silent for an uncomfortable minute, during which Mettaton had pulled his fists out of his pockets and had gone back to his writing. -I just d-don’t want Undyne to feel bad, you know?-

-And why, darling, would I make her feel bad?-

-You don’t mean it.- even without looking at her, he knew Alphys was fidgeting. -But it can happen. You have this habit of a-always attracting the attention, for better or for worse. And during t-this day, with the mourning people…-

-Then I will screw everything up, and I’ll be known as the guy who ruined the King’s funeral, and I’ll be damned for all eternity, and nobody will ever watch my show again, and I will have to leave my house with a paper bag on my head.- Mettaton had said calmly, pushing his pen into the paper. -But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I cared about King Asgore not unlike Undyne did.-

Alphys swallowed loudly: -She was-

-Practically raised by him, I know.- Mettaton chanted. -But love doesn’t come in limited doses, does it?-

Alphys muttered a “nnnh” sound as he shifted to the next paper. -Then don’t worry, mama. Say what you will about me, but I don’t waste any occasion. Ever.-

And he knew fully well that he did not waste that one when Undyne came to his office the day after the funeral, still wearing a black mourning uniform, and with bags under her eyes the size of orange carpel.

-I need a weapon from you.-

-What kind?- he had asked, lost in the fishnet pattern of her dirty, greasy hair. -Bladed, laser or…-

-Vocal.- 

And then she had slammed the door behind her back, never to be seen by him for the following week. He did hear from her a lot, though, and her daily supply of “keep up” and “don’t let it beat you” was his true fuel. 

 

But Undyne, during the years, also taught him some pieces of Royal Guard wisdom, and one of the most prominent ones stated that if an armor can’t be pierced through, why even try. 

Despite his frail physic and background door-level height, Burgerpants wore an armor as heavy as the Mountain itself, and thirty times thicker than any of Undyne’s own. So thick that not even Mettaton’s words had managed to pierce through it. 

-It’s easy to hear about duty, just like it is to talk about it.- he had said. -But when it comes do doing our duty, we can finally see what we’re truly like. In the end we all do our duty when the moment comes. And right now, when it comes to ours, our duty is to protect the Underground from an evil so ruthless and sneaky no spear can pierce through it. Its name is Hopelessness: it slithers among us, bites us with its chilling teeth and drains us until only the shadow of us remains in the world of the living. But we can defeat it. I am the weapon built specifically for this purpose: to protect our people from this insidious menace. As you can see, a weapon like myself must be preserved. And all of you are part of the mission to make sure our faceless enemy doesn’t sneak into our lines and stab us from behind.-

He had chosen his outfit instinctively, quivering of the wild excitement that only the sense of purpose could bring. A simple gray blouse, a thick faux-leather shirt, grayscale leggings with a camouflage motive. He even wore a dyed jean jacket with black stars sewn on the shoulders. “Apparently I am a general now. Isn’t it cool? Now Undyne will finally stop calling me useless. And I can finally order Sans around with a reason. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

It wasn’t, of course, but he didn’t imagine it yet. 

What didn’t click back then, instead, was the reaction from the audience: the workers, that was. If someone wasn’t clapping right, smiling sideways, holding a negative remark on the tip of their tongue, Mettaton was sure to know it right away. It was one of his many talents. But even a child would have noticed how disgruntled and cold Burgerpants looked as he slammed his paws one against the other. He looked like one of those freaky human toys of monkeys playing the cymbals, except somehow even angrier. 

He wanted to ask him what it was, but what for? It’s not like the cat monster was used of telling him how he felt. He didn’t tell him about the girls in the alley whose attention he wanted to get - I mean, it’s not like your _beloved superstar boss_ can help you in this matter, can’t he? He didn’t tell him whether he liked or not the outfit he’d choose for him. He didn’t tell him what he felt after hearing his special personalized tape. He didn’t even tell him what he felt like about being called ‘Burgerpants’. “I chose my own name for crying out loud. Shouldn’t I be a trustworthy source of advice in the matter?”

Why bother, then? A star should learn to catch signals from the audience, and Burgerpants’ signals were as clear as a neon sign the size of Onionsan’s face: “don’t talk to me”. 

 

“Of course I can’t talk to you.” Mettaton thought. “You’re not even here.”

The burger stand was cold, with all the lights off and no sound of running machinery. Mettaton’s boots left clear footprints in the dusty floor as he paced on the tiles, looking around at the deserted room. 

-How long hasn’t this place been swept?- He took off his glove to push his finger into the counter. -You could write a book on this dirt. If he wanted an autograph, he could have asked.- 

-We don’t know, sir.- Angles muttered. -He hasn’t answered our calls for the last three days.-

Mettaton had to fight himself not to ungraciously punch the counter. He limited himself to an eye roll: -Now, that’s a pleasure. My employers vanish and I don’t even find out.-

Suddenly, he felt disappointed. How could he not notice that?

-Don’t blame yourself, boss.- the usher muttered. -You’ve been very busy these days. And he’s not a child anyway. He’s not yours to attend to.-

“I don’t even want children. They’d ruin my carpet, distract the fans’ attention away from me, and require a care and dedication that I’ve proven not to have.” He sat on a stool and pointed at the light switch next to the door. All Angles needed was a slight nod: when the light was on, Mettaton huffed loudly, thankful that no one was able too see him. “I can’t break character. I _mustn't_ break character. If I fall, they all fall.”

-So.- he twirled on the counter, laying his legs on the plane. There we go, back into character, nothing is wrong and I’m absolutely _not_ worried about what’s going on. -Do you happen to know where he could be, darling? So that I can dramatically barge in and grab him by the ears?-

The usher laughed, and Mettaton wanted to puke. “Why would I do that? It’s not a slapstick comedy show.” He stared at the wall, disgusted. Good comedy didn’t need a butt monkey, and even less did real life. He gritted his teeth: -I wouldn’t actually do that, you know?-

The usher lowered his shoulder. “Asgore, give me the strength.” Then, his points perked up again, and he ran to the other side of the counter. 

-What’s that?-

-A letter.- the other chirped. The tip of a gravy-stained piece of paper was popping from the top side of the counter. He grabbed it, pushing a rip into the corner, and unfolded it. 

“Let me guess, Burgie.” he mumbled, rolling his eyes again. “You don’t feel like working today, so you’re just going to stay home scratching your belly and chainsmoking. As if I hadn’t given you enough extra off days already.”

 

Ten minutes later, he was banging on Undyne’s door, screaming her name, the free hand clung on his aching SOUL container and holding in the tears pushing with all his prowess in pretending.


	2. And It's Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burgerpants is still missing, and many things aren't the way they're supposed to be. Mettaton ponders on accountability and is forced to see some harsh truths in the vanishing of his worst employee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Uncomfortable silence can be so loud"  
> (Madonna, Miles Away)

Undyne’s hand was solid, and the metallic glove felt soothing against his own faux skin. But when the end of the corridor came into sight, he slipped it off.

-You don’t have to act all tough in front of me.- the captain of the Guards said. 

-Not in front of you.- Mettaton answered. -But in front of them, I do. I can’t show them I’m scared. They want answers from me.-

-But we’re clueless.- 

-Then it’s doubly crucial for me to make sure they don’t see I am.- 

“She has no idea how it all works. As if this couldn’t get any harder.”Undyne’s unexpected reaction was to lift her eyebrow. -You’re way above your head. A boy has been kidnapped, Mettaton. This isn’t about your little reputation.-

Her eyebrows twitched, her sharp teeth were bare against the blue jaws. -This isn’t about you.-

Mettaton stopped in his walking, staring at her with his back against the wall. Typical Undyne: always ready to assert her authority even in situation that didn’t pertain her. 

-Now stop.- he whispered, pushing the tip of his foot into the boot. -Stop right there.-

-You don’t give me orders.- Undyne pushed his protruded hand away. -We have to prepare a corp to search the nearby area. We’re not here to talk about you and how important you are.-

 -My confidence is theirs. If I fall, they start to tremble.- his tone was louder than what he had intended, and by Undyne’s vague jumping he realized that it had caught her by surprise. 

“Good.”

-I have to look perfect for them. No twitching, no cracking. Even if right now, I swear, if only I could I would scream until Burgerpants is found. Because I need to. I need to scream and punch walls and weep in my bed. But as long as I’m in public, my face is marble.-

-Is this why you’re wearing all these stones on your face?- 

He did put on five layers of his sparkliest, thickest eyeshadow. Dark pink, now probably half a tube short. -I have stones on my fingers too, if you want to see. Rings,  bracelets, nail décor. The Rolling Stones would be jealous of all the stones I have on. I guess you need stones to look as strong as a rock.-

-You’re not strong. Get off of your high horse and leave this mess to us. I’m wasting my time with you.-

He though of a witty response, but his mind was blank. 

All he could say was: -Promise me you’ll find him. Please.- 

 

Truth be told, he did want to cry. He felt – no other words to say it – stupid. 

Everything felt wrong as he opened the door, holding the side of his dress like a safety blanket, his high heels shaking like branches in the wind. The lights were too dim, the windows not fully opened, the AC was off, making the room feel as cold as the freezing chamber. But his back was straight, his lips still, his shoulder wide; and his eyes remained dry. Appearing at his workers with traces of pink glitter rolling on his cheeks as he announced that one of them – their youngest, their loneliest, their worst ever – had been snatched and was yet to be found would have been among his greatest failures, probably only surpassed by the aforementioned snatching. 

“As if they weren’t hopeless already.” -Are you all here? Where’s Sans?-

-Sleeping, probably.- screamed someone in the back. 

He grunted. -Let’s start it without him. Because there’s something important to be said. So please, I require you to listen quietly and avoid excessive panicking. This is an incredibly unsettling moment for us.

He unfolded the letter, but didn’t look at it. Six eyes met his at the first row of seats. Bratty’s green eyes, interlocked with Catty’s blue eyes in a confused stare, those in search of some kind of clarity in Kit’s pink, widened ones. 

Were they his friends? He was ashamed of himself for not knowing. Who else but three oddball teenagers could be friends with another teenager with no real sense of direction. But they knew nothing – nobody knew anything except the ugly truth that lingered in the air and couldn’t wait any longer to be unveiled.

-Dear Mettaton,- he read. His voice was smooth, as if he was reading an Oscar acceptance speech, because that was what was expected of him. 

-We’re awfully sorry to be barging in like this, but these won’t be good news. 

Your worst employee, Burgerpants, has walked into a territory that didn’t pertain to him, and from which he won’t be released until the money that he has shamelessly drained from our vaults is given back to our rightful hands. A total of 3.000.000 G, to be exact.-

He took a deep breath, sitting down on the wooden desk. His head was throbbing, his eyes felt heavy and welled-up. He had the money, and he was willing to give it: but where did a scrawny 19-year old boy who worked a dream job at the biggest establishment of the Underground throw such a humongous amount of money was way beyond him. 

-Don’t contact your pals at the Royal Guard and keep your fancy killer robot gizmos in check. We have your pal, and if you want him back, you must do as we say. There’s an address in northern New Home, but no signature.-

He crumpled up the letter and threw it into the dustbin. 

The blank stares of the onlookers were enough to choke his sobs down his throat. No tears fell from their eyes, but there was no need for them. Katefish had covered her face with her hands. Angles was shaking on the ground, hugging his pointy knees. Bratty held Catty’s hand, and the cat girl herself stared in front of herself, her eyes so wide they looked as if they were about to fall off their sockets. 

And duty called again: it was only fair from him to answer its alarm. 

-So.- he said calmly, eyes fixated on the wall on the other side of the room. -This is far from an easy matter, and I’m ready to excuse any emotional behavior from any of…-

-Excuse?- 

Catty pushed Bratty’s hand away from her back and ran towards the desk where he stood. -You, like, better excuse our irrationality, shiny pal. Our friend has been snatched.-

-And I never had any intention not to.- Mettaton stepped off the desk, his legs dangling from the side and their pink polish clashing against the cream white of the wood. He reached Catty’s hands, so tiny they vanished inside the soft silk of his gloves, and stroked their back. -We will find him, darling. I won’t let them tear one hair off his head. I swear it right now.- 

Catty’s nose trembled, a whimper escaped her lips. Then a sigh, and then her whole body was shaking, as a cascade of sobs after sobs after sobs broke the stunned silence for good. 

But no tears. _Why?_

He pulled the cat to his chest without a word. She was taller than him, plumper and more muscular, but had the same smooth softness. Firm in his hold, her best friends right behind to embrace her shoulders, Kit waiting back on his seat with tightened fists and hoarse breath. This was… _wrong_.

-If you want you can take a break, darling. I will ask someone else to replace you at the mercy section.-

-No, no. Please. I’m alright.- Catty babbled. Bratty lifted her eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Mettaton. -I can do it.-

-Don’t strain yourself.- he whispered. -All I can do is promise that we’ll be alright. Undyne will find him. She has already enlisted the entire Royal Guard.-

-They said they were going to hurt him if the Guard knew.- 

-Their pathetic heist is nothing compared to Undyne’s wrath, I swear it right now.- Mettaton rested his cheek against Catty’s soft fur and let out one single, long sigh. 

All he could do was hold Catty closer and pray - and his SOUL creaked and throbbed inside the glass belt in sync with the girl’s sighs. 

 

He spent the afternoon tending at his nails with no real objective. And every new layer of fuchsia MTT-Brand Nail Double Glitter Triple Resistance Mesmerizer was out of track and got smudged at the bat of an eye. At the tenth attempt, he grabbed the still open bottle and threw it across the room. He heard the crash when his face was already buried in the pillow.

And with the realization that he was completely alone, the doors were closed, the windows were locked, no voices were coming from the corridor or the nearby alley, nobody could hear or see him, he allowed himself a brief breakdown. Just a break, he said. No more running away from your problems, no more escape from your duty. 

When he woke up, the next morning, he cursed in between the sheets. 

 

Undyne met him in his office two mornings after. She had bags under her eyes, and that was _wrong_. 

-Nothing?-

She hadn’t answered his question, and that was even more _wrong_. 

-We just need more time.- she eventually said, one hand clenched inside the other as she awkwardly bounced on his pink guest chair. -Not even the Canine Unite could find anything. Not even a trace of scent. Don’t you have any idea of where he is?-

-No. Why would I?-

-You’re his boss. Don’t you keep track on your employees?-

Mettaton pulled his hands to his mouth. -Goodness gracious, why would I do that? They have to work for me, not tell me their life stories.-

Now it was Undyne’s turn to move her hands: to the handles of the chair, holding it very, _very_ tightly. 

-This could have been you.-

-I can take care of myself. And I want my employee to be brought back before he’s harmed in any way.- He widened his eyes, his mouth slowly opening into an expression of eagerness. -What if…-

-What if?-

-What if we just paid the ransom?-

Undyne widened her eyes: -Never. Not on my watch.- 

-I’m not asking you for money. I have the amount.- Mettaton whispered. -I can produce it right now. But they still have my worker. They could hurt him.-

-Have you gone completely insane? I knew your cowardice was appalling, but this is a reach even for you.-

Mettaton clasped his lips shut at the insult. He expected it – he could take it. It was par for the course in being who he was and relating with Undyne. He only wished for a break as his employee was still being held against his will. 

-He may be in pain. Please, Undyne. He can’t stay in there forever.-

-But that doesn’t mean this crime can go unpunished. How many more do these crooks need to snatch before we do something about it? Before YOU do something about it?-

The pen Mettaton was fidgeting with slipped from his fingers and rolled on the soft black moquette. -What can I do about this?-

-You can’t do anything now.- Undyne’s voice was as cold as Snowdin itself. -But you could have done something. Like make sure that your workers don’t sink to such desperate lows.-

Now she was reaching: -I couldn’t have done nothing. I didn’t know he would resort to-

-You should have seen it. Anyone could have. I had seen it, and I’m not his boss.-

Mettaton took a deep breath, eyes fixated in Undyne’s red sclera. -And you didn’t tell me because…-

-Because I overestimated your empathy.- 

Mettaton’s hands floated limp above the desk, fingers shaking in sync with the throbbing in the SOUL container. 

Somehow, that felt less wrong than he expected. 

All he could produce was a choked -Pardon?-

-The truth is, you don’t care about him. You can just replace him with someone else. You already have, haven’t you?-

-He won’t be there for long.- Mettaton found himself babbling, and backed up a step. It was… _wrong_. -We just need to make sure his absence isn’t felt by the customers. We’d be creating panic and-

-Don’t give me that. You know you’re lying. You can’t cover this up with me, Mettaton. You couldn’t give two hoots about him. He’s just a pawn, to you. A thing you can maneuver around in your quest for attentions, and throw it away like trash when you don’t need it anymore.-

“It?” Mettaton shuddered. -That’s not true. You know it’s not true. You’re just angry because you can’t find whoever took my employee away.-

-Have you even seen yourself?- Undyne walked to him and he took another step back. It was also wrong. He never backed down. He wasn’t scared of Undyne. It couldn’t happen. But it was. And it was so, so wrong. -“My employee” this, “my employee” that. Do you even know his name? No, don’t answer me. You don’t. You only want him back because you feel guilty. You feel like this is your fault, and you can’t live with that. Not everyone is as forgiving as Napstablook, you know? Some people aren’t willing to be trampled over.-

-He is!-

Mettaton covered his mouth, his hands shaking in front of his cheeks. Undyne stared at the floor. Her fists were tightened, her lips sealed. She took deep breaths, one after the other, and produced a disgusted slurp. 

And it was worth it. _What have I said?_

-Get out of this room. Get out of this room right now. Your presence here isn’t needed. Leave this case to competent people and don’t ever talk to me about this whole ransom business until we’ve solved it.-

_It was wrong. It was beyond wrong._ It was with shaking legs and a painful itch at the bottom of his throat that he got up from the chair. 

-As you wish.- he whispered. He met the door without looking back, his fingers so tight around its side some gear produced a gross, oily noise. 

 

_Maybe he is dead_ , he thought. Tears stung his eyelid, and he pulled his head backwards, pushing them back into his eyeballs where they belonged. A star wasn’t supposed to cry. Not like this, at least. These were far from the tears of joy that would shine on the stage floor at the end of a beautiful performance. 

_Maybe he is dead and there’s one less audience member out there_. Scattered pieces through the floor – it’s his nail varnish from the previous day, and it was supposed to be pink, but to the dim light it looks as orange as _him_. 

Maybe it could have been stopped. had I been there. Had I seen, had I heard, had I spoken. Had I done more than…

Well, what he always did. It was fun to tease him, pure and simple. Because he, like everything else in that stupid day, was wrong. He didn’t speak when he was told, he didn’t look at him with the same gleaming eyes. 

But it wasn’t his fault, was it? He was the one who couldn’t act to save his life. Those dead stares, the mouth open agape, the trembling voice at the delivery. Nobody could have taken him seriously. 

_As if not even the greatest of greats never have a bad day. As if it wasn’t possible to improve, with the proper training._

-Lookey here.- he told himself burying his face in one of the pillows. Soft, covered in fur, pastel coloured. A mere copy of who he was probably never going to see again. And it was so, so his fault. It was wrong, no, no: he was wrong. In the wrong; and so guilty, too.

-I’m talking about a boy who has been snatched by a mob as if it was his fault.-

“Some people aren’t willing to be trampled over. He is. Or is he? Have I trampled over...”

The rest of the evening was nothing but sobs, buried by the soft warmth of his comforter into the black pit of forgotten things where Burgerpants was stored.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, my ideas for a great world-twisting epic still don't seem to pop out - mostly because I can't find a villain from the game that fits my needs, nor make up one from scratch - but in the meantime, have this - to keep my brain cells running and my style polished.   
> I know it's not much. I know you have better, bigger plots, bigger stakes. Please don't laugh. Please don't laugh.


End file.
